


ACDC- Back in Black

by gwevyan



Series: Dean's Playlist [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwevyan/pseuds/gwevyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>""Hey, Dean! Hey, Cas. How's the pie?" Sam beamed at them both, pretending not to notice Castiel's usual blank stare and Dean's suddenly suspicious look. Damn, his brother was quick. Well, he'd just have to be quicker." Sam goes up against a Laundromat. He doesn't win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

They tended to put off doing laundry for as long as possible- not necessarily intentionally, it's just not something Dean really thought about until he realized he was on his last clean shirt. And even then, he had to be getting a few odd looks from people even scruffier than him before he agreed it was probably time to stop for a wash. Sam was more of a neat freak but he usually liked to wear out his favorites and only move on from his pretty, colorful plaids to his boring lumberjack ones when he'd sweated through the first choices and therefore didn't notice how low on clean things he'd gotten until it was too late. Anyway, he had more clothes than Dean.

The part about Sam was how Dean explained it to Cas, anyway, when they accidentally called him into a Laundromat in Georgia.

Sam preferred to skip over that part and get to the bit where Dean got so mesmerized by the spinning machines that he finally yelled out that honest to god it'd take a goddamn _miracle_ to get him out of there with his clothes clean and his sanity intact.

Castiel, being a very attentive angel when he had the time, showed up with a rustling of invisible wings.

Now Cas and Dean both sat on a bench, silent and loose-limbed and staring like they were hypnotized into the whirring front-load washers.

Sam genuinely feared for both their brains.

So he shoved Dean's jacket and wallet into his lap, gave Castiel a nudge to bring him back to earth, and reminded his brother of the diner they'd seen on the way through town with the big neon _COUNTY FAIR PIE COMPETITION WINNERS SINCE 1997!_ sign on the roof. Dean's eyes blinked back into clarity with astonishing rapidity and a second later he was out the door, gripping Castiel's wrist and yelling a grateful, "come find us when your panties get dry!" over his shoulder.

Well.

 _Sam_ knew it was Dean's version of gratitude, and that's what mattered.

A washing machine beeped at him and he transferred the load of Dean's clothes into the nearest dryer. Sam eyed the controls. Why were these things always so complicated? What was the difference between 'Casual' and 'Cottons' and 'Heavy,' anyway? Their clothes were mostly casual, pretty heavy, and generally made of cotton.

Sam frowned at the dials. High heat, medium heat, no heat, extra spin, short spin…well, at least he could definitely rule out 'Delicates.' And 'Wools,' except for some of their socks.

Finally he chose what seemed like decent compromises between the options, and a few random ones, and shut the door. He'd go with different choices on his own load and see which finished soonest.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean was scraping the last of what looked like cherry pie off his plate and Castiel had a pensive face on over his banana cream when Sam pushed through the door of the diner with both their duffle bags slung over his shoulder. He hurried over and took the chair between them, dropping the bags on the floor and pasting a big bright smile on his face.

"Hey, Dean! Hey, Cas. How's the pie?" Sam beamed at them both, pretending not to notice Castiel's usual blank stare and Dean's suddenly suspicious look. Damn, his brother was quick. Well, he'd just have to be quicker. He twisted in his seat until he spotted a waitress and waved a hand, catching her attention. She hurried over, pulling a pad out of her apron pocket. Sam tilted his head and fixed her with the crooked grin middle aged women always loved. "Hi, sorry, I just got here, I'll have a…." He scanned the whiteboard above the back wall. "Could I get a slice of blueberry pie, please? And my brother here will have a slice of peach. That okay with you, Dean?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but Sam didn't give him a chance to speak.

"No, don't worry about it, you've been working hard and this one's on me," Sam said brightly, grinning broadly and giving his brother a jovial punch to the shoulder. "Cas, you still all set there? So, yeah- blueberry and peach pie- oh, and three beers. Thank you!" He sent the waitress off with a winning smile and kept it plastered on as he turned back to his brother.

Dean had his arms folded and his lips were thin.

Sam kept smiling, and hummed a little as he picked up his water glass. He half drained it in one gulp.

Dean growled a little- just a quiet, low sound from the back of his throat, but he'd trained Sam well to that sound and Sam sat up straight immediately, meeting eyes.

Dean stared intently back. There was a pause. Then- "Sam," Dean rumbled.

Sam shrank a little, but tried valiantly to keep pretending nothing was wrong. "Yeah?" he asked, still going for cheerful.

Dean kept staring. " _Sammy_."

 _Ohhh, not good_. The rumbling voice came out of his chest that time, and Sam had an uncomfortable flashback to when he was ten or twelve and Dean caught him trying to pretend that he hadn't snuck a stray cat into their room. Dean was just learning how to use the baritone range of his voice back then and easily worked it to make Sam feel like a little kid about to get spanked. Kind of a Pavlovian response by now, Sam thought petulantly.

But Dean wasn't letting up on the glare, and Sam slouched lower in his seat, playing with the condensation on his water glass.

"So…you know how sometimes the new eco-dryers are really complicated? Because they have like…a million settings and no descriptions?" he started hesitantly.

Dean's glare went icy. "Sam, what did you do?"

"I didn't mean to!" Sam cried. "I tried to use the settings that made the most sense but I guess I picked the wrong ones-"

Dean groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "Sam, _please_ tell me nothing of mine turned pink."

"No no no, nothing like that," Sam said hastily. "It's just…I mean, it's not even a big deal, really, you probably wouldn't even have noticed if you hadn't just given me the freakin' third degree over it-"

"Sam," Dean snapped. "Quit the babble and fess up, dude."

Sam sighed and reached into one of the bags at his feet, digging out Dean's plain black t-shirt. He unfolded it, gripped the shoulders, and held it up.

Dean's jaw dropped in horror.

Castiel frowned a little. "I would not have thought that would fit you," he said, sounding confused. "The material does not appear to be able to stretch around the girth of your chest, and the length would stop around your navel." His eyes cleared. "Is this a new fashion?" Cas asked, clearly proud of himself for working it out.

Dean slammed his palms on his thighs and Sam could see his fingers digging in tight. "No, Cas, it's not a new fashion," he forced out through clenched teeth. Sam winced at the tight muscles in his brother's jaw. "It's little brothers about to get their _asses_ kicked." He finally took his eyes off the tiny shirt and met Sam's guilty expression. "The rest?"

Sam set the shirt on the table and reached back into the bag. "It's really not so bad," he tried. "I mean, you're always saying you can make anything look good…." He pulled out Dean's favorite perfectly-broken-in olive green t-shirt, now just as small as the black one, and a pair of slightly shrunken jeans, which he held up. "See? I bet you'll even thank me when you try these on, girls love tight jeans." He eyed the denim speculatively. "Tight ankle jeans."

"On them, not on me!" Dean exploded, snatching his clothes and bending over to rifle through his bag himself.

Sam winced. "They'll make your ass look great?" he suggested.

"If you ask me, honey, he doesn't need much help," their waitress said with a smirk and a wink, setting down a tray and handing out their pie and beers. She planted a hand on her hip and smiled. "You boys need anything else?"

"I think we're good," Sam answered with a weak smile, definitely knowing they were anything but good, and picked up his spoon.

"Well, you just let me know." She tossed Dean one last teasing wink and left them alone.

Sam watched as Dean seemed to struggle over whether to lay into his pie or his brother. Deciding that every little bit helped, he cautiously nudged his own plate over next to Dean's. "You can have mine," he offered, and looked up with his best big, remorseful puppy eyes.

Dean struggled for a moment longer, then sighed, and took the plate, digging in with violent motions of his spoon.

"And you can borrow my clothes until we fix yours," Sam added.

"Yeah, because all I need now is to walk around in your gigantor cowboy flowery shit," Dean grumbled, but ate both pieces of pie without further comment.

Castiel- whether because he didn't like banana cream after all, or because he felt bad for Dean too, Sam didn't know- pushed his own plate of barely-touched pie across the table to join the other two. "I grieve for your pain," he rasped quietly to the older Winchester.

Somehow, that didn't make Sam feel any better.

Neither did Dean draining his beer in two swallows, and promptly stealing Sam's.


	2. 2

Sam could be damn sneaky when he wanted to. Dean alternately made it very difficult and very easy- he'd watch Sam like a hawk most of the day, most days, but if Sam very earnestly started talking about research and studying and something academic or vegetarian, Dean would quickly cut him loose and head out to a bar. Not that he was doing so well lately, dressed in Sam's rolled-up jeans and relatively colorful shirts.

Anyway. Dean would go drinking. Then, Sam would sneak out hunting.

Not _hunting_ hunting- Dean would kill him if he tried that, even if he wanted to, and he definitely didn't- but searching out and gathering a secret stash of things he hid away carefully in his duffle bag. And he was pretty sure that Dean, for all his psychic big brother abilities to sniff out any injuries Sam tried to blow off or embarrassing secrets he wanted to hide, didn't have the faintest clue what Sam was doing right under his nose.

"Hey. Sammy. You…got anything you wanna tell me?"

Or, maybe not.

Sam tried to play innocent even though that had never worked when it was about Dean's missing army men or conning Bobby into feeding him Lucky Charms instead of real food, and twisted to face Dean with a surprised expression.

"Huh? What d'you mean?"

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes on the road and a little crease on his forehead. "Don't even try it, Sam. You've been sitting on something for a while now and I figured I'd give you a chance to clear it up on your own, but you're obviously still at it. So spill."

Sam curled his toes. "Seriously, Dean, there's nothing," he insisted. He couldn't let him find out yet- there was one piece left, just _one_!

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face. "Awesome," he muttered. "Sorry, Sam, I didn't wanna do this to you, but there's too much shit already going on right now and I don't have time for you to crap out on me with a little emo moment." He flicked on the turn signal and pulled them off the freeway at the sign for a gas station. They drove in silence for the few minutes it took to get there, then sat quietly in the parking lot for a few minutes more, Sam twitching nervously and Dean rolling the hem of his (Sam's) turquoise plaid shirt between his fingers. Finally, his brother picked up his cell phone and pushed a speed dial number. "Hey, Cas, we're at the Roll-In Full Service off exit 203…."

Sam started. "What? Dean, we don't need-"

"What's wrong?"

" _Jesus-_ "

Sam and Dean both swore loudly as they jumped and hit the roof, then spun round in their seats in unison.

Cas looked back at them plaintively. "You _called_ me," he said accusingly. You told me where you are, I didn't just…pop up this time."

Dean blew out a loud sigh and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "I know, man, but- I hadn't even finished giving you the freakin' address. We weren't expecting you just yet."

Castiel shrugged. "I've been keeping an eye on your whereabouts."

"Right. Well, thanks. Anyway. Sam, go inside."

"Huh?" That was not what Sam had expected Dean to say. He'd been waiting for something about Cas using his angel mojo to see whether or not Sam was lying, or possessed, or something.

Dean waggled his fingers in the direction of the convenience store attached to the gas station. "Go on," he said. "The grown-ups gotta have an adult conversation. You go buy some candy and play with the coin-op horse for ten minutes, okay?"

Sam gaped at him, but Dean seemed resolute, so he threw open the car door and stomped away, muttering irritably under his breath the whole way to the doors of the store. Glancing back, he saw that Cas and Dead already had their heads together, talking seriously.

But then he opened the door, and gasped.

 _The last piece_.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam walked back to the car feeling rather smug. Not only did he find exactly what he'd been trying to get for the last two weeks, the store had had a decent stock of granola bars! He'd felt so satisfied he even bought Dean a sack of peanut m&m's and Castiel a bag of Swedish Fish as a present. He couldn't wait to see the angel's face as he tried to figure them out….

His brother and his angel were waiting in tense silence when he swung into the front seat. "Hola, mis amigos," Sam said cheerfully. "I come with gifts." He handed a surprised Dean and impassive Castiel their candy. Sure enough, Cas looked perplexed.

"I don't- why are these fish multi-colored?" the angel asked helplessly, turning the bag back and forth in his hands.

Dean rolled his eyes. "They're candy, Cas. Fruit flavored."

Cas' eyes widened. "Fish come in fruit flavors?"

"What? No!" Dean groaned. "Never mind. Just eat them. What are you all smiley about, Sammy? Did somebody give you a funny-looking brownie while you were in there? Cuz you _know_ I've warned you about those."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Hang on a sec, I've got a present for you." He climbed back out of the car and jogged around to the back with the last bag from the convenience store, dumped the contents along with the secret stash from his duffle into Dean's near-empty duffle, and hustled back. He offered the bag to Dean with a big grin. "Here you go!"

Dean eyed it warily. Justifiable wariness, really. Sam shook the bag.

"It's not bad, I promise," he encouraged.

Dean glanced back at Cas, who didn't say anything, then sighed, and took the bag. "My own duffle bag. Thanks, Sammy. That's really nice of you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just stop being a dickhead and open it, okay? You'll like it. I promise."

Dean cautiously slid the zipper back a few inches, just enough to get a glimpse of what was inside. Then his eyes widened and his mouth opened a little in surprise and he yanked the zipper back the rest of the way, flopping the sides open. "You fixed it!"

A pile of Dean-sized clothes tumbled out onto the front seat, near-perfect replicas of what had been shrunk in the wash. Sam grinned happily. "They're all new ones. I've been hunting around the last couple weeks to find the same brands and stuff, but it's all there." He waved a hand over the bag, indicating the package of black briefs and the black v-neck t-shirt. "And I talked to a girl who works at a dry cleaners and she told me all about how to use the new laundromat machines, so it won't happen again." Sam said a hand over his heart and adopted his most dramatically serious expression. "Promise. So, we good?"

A tiny, genuine smile flickered over Dean's lips for a moment before it was replaced with the trademark smirk. "You're such a chick," he muttered, but his warm tone took out any sting and he ruffled Sam's hair fondly. Then he stuffed everything back into the bag and hauled it over his shoulder. "Alright, you two good for a few minutes? I wanna go change out of this shit I got on, it smells like flowery shampoo." Dean jogged off to the convenience store bathroom with a random rude gesture over his shoulder.

"Sam," Cas piped up from the back.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"What do Norwegian fish taste like?"

Sam opened his mouth, then hesitated. Then grinned. "You know what? Ask Dean when he gets back. He knows about _all_ the fish- he likes studying about them. But, you know, he's kinda embarrassed about it so he won't talk about it unless you ask him straight. You know, country by country."

He could see Cas frowning slightly in the rearview mirror. "I only know the names of a hundred and eighty-six modern countries. Do countries that no longer exist count?"

Sam stifled his chuckle and nodded gravely. "Oh, absolutely. Dean studies these things allll the time. So just ask him country by country, right?"

Castiel agreed.

Sam settled back into his seat to wait for Dean and bask in the smugness.


End file.
